Revival
by Clever Lass
Summary: Finally, the long-awaited sequel to "Cry for Help"! All the Spike-lovers who put out contracts on me after that story may now relax and cancel them. Our Boy is back! Incompleteoneshot, but it gives you a sense of what will happen.


_Disclaimer: They all belong to Joss Whedon, whether he sells 'em to UPN or the WB._

_This is the beginning of a sequel to my story "Cry for Help," which peeved a great number of readers because I killed off Spike in the last few pages. I had already planned to bring him back and had written this much when I posted "Cry for Help," but because it wasn't finished yet I hesitated to put it up. _

_I finally decided to put it up, though, to put my angry readers' minds at rest. I should warn you, though, that I have gotten so caught up in another couple of fandoms AND have been busy finishing and polishing my first original novel (and am currently trying to find an agent to sell it for me) that this probably will not be completed for a long time, if ever. Please accept my apologies, but I figured it was probably better to post what I have than to leave everyone in limbo for so long. For now, just consider it a oneshot. If you haven't read "Cry for Help," go read it first; otherwise this won't make any sense._

**Revival**

The sky was beginning to lighten with the first rays of dawn. The blond girl sitting in the clearing could begin to see the trees around them on the mountain. She glanced around the clearing and had to smile — they were an odd assortment of beings who stood around the clearing. One giant demon stood beside a large wooden box, reading from a scroll. Two other girls, one blonde, the other red-haired, knelt together chanting responses to the reading. Seven vampires stood around the box, chained to it and looking nervously around at the woods around them. They could begin to see the trees clearly — that's what worried them. Buffy thoughtfully fingered the sword she had hidden and waited.

The wind picked up and Buffy shivered. Here in Breaker's Woods, on top of the mountain, the wind whistled through the trees threateningly. Buffy looked at the sky and hoped for warmth as soon as the sun came up.

The giant demon finished chanting and set fire to the scroll. Buffy crept forward with the sword and lopped off his head, just as the seven vampires chained to the box burst into ashes and blew away on the sudden wind. Willow and Tara stopped chanting and gathered up their things. They waited at the edge of the clearing, watching. Time seemed to stop for a long moment, until Buffy stepped forward and looked into the box. Then they slipped quietly from the clearing and headed home.

He was barely recognizeable. He was naked, scratched, and bruised. Teeth chattering violently, he crouched in a corner of the cage, shivering and terrified. Buffy said his name softly, "Spike?"

He started violently, then shook his head. "W-w-w-will..." he couldn't get the word out.

Buffy understood. "William?" She said. He nodded, still looking fearfully at her. Buffy made her voice soft and soothing. "William, don't be afraid. No one's going to hurt you." He still didn't move, but the shaking slowed down after a moment. Buffy shivered; the wind here on top of the mountain was much colder than it was down in Sunnydale. She was wearing a sweater — Spike wasn't wearing anything. No wonder he was cold. She motioned to Giles to bring the blanket.

"William, I'm going to open the box," she said, her voice still soft. "It's going to be noisy, but it'll be okay."

He nodded once, still not moving. Buffy and Giles pried the slats off the front of the box. Its occupant flinched at the screeching sound, but sat still until Buffy stepped into the box. She handed him the blanket. "Here, wrap this around yourself," she said. He tried to, but it kept slipping from his awkward fingers. Buffy took it from him gently and wrapped him up in it with a matter-of-fact way that belied her nervousness. She guided his hand up to hold the blanket closed and led him out of the box.

Blanket clutched around himself, Spike finally stood erect under the sunrise. He stared at it in wonder, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. He glanced quickly at Buffy, then at Giles, sharing with them the joy of this magic moment.

Then he passed out.

The slayer and watcher worked together to get him down to where they'd left Giles' car. They carefully lay him down in the back seat, where he lay unconscious for the 45 minute drive back to Sunnydale.

"Should we take him to the hospital? Or just back to your house?" Buffy asked as they entered the city limits.

"My place. We can care for him better there, and not have to answer any, uh, difficult questions," Giles decided.

They got him unloaded and stretched out on the couch. Buffy covered him with another blanket and got a glass of water for when he woke up.

Giles looked tired. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with a sigh. Buffy went over and gave him a hug. "Giles, I can't thank you enough..."

His expression softened as he returned the embrace. "Buffy, that's quite —" He broke off as her tight control finally slipped and she started to cry. "Buffy, what's wrong? You mustn't worry; I'm sure he'll be more like his old self soon."

Buffy stepped back. She smiled, with the tears still flowing. "It's not that. Did you see the look on his face when he saw the sunrise?"

Giles nodded. His own throat tightened, and, in a typically British response to strong emotion, he cleared his throat and said, "I'm going to go make some tea."

The rest of the day passed with Spike still comatose on the couch. Buffy went home for a while to tell her mother what was going on, change clothes, and call the others. She thanked Willow for her and Tara's help, and asked Xander to come by Giles' house the next morning. Then she went downstairs to talk to her mother. She found Joyce in the kitchen, sitting at the table, drinking coffee and reading a magazine.

"Mom, I'm going to stay at Giles' tonight," she said.

"Oh, all right, honey. Why, is something going on?" Joyce asked. "Slayer-wise, I mean?"

"Well, not exactly." Buffy poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down across from her mother. "See, it's a long story." As quickly as she could, she summed up the events of her trip to LA a few weeks before. She explained about Darla and Drusilla coming to LA, about Angel's pretending to go bad again, about the karaoke bar and working with Spike to kill Dru and Darla. The rest of the story — Spike's falling in love with her, and his death at the hands of his sire — was more difficult to tell, but she got through it. "So Willow and Tara found the spell that law firm used, and we used it last night to bring back Spike. He's at Giles' now, and he needs help."

Joyce was more than a little surprised. "Angel killed Spike?" Buffy nodded. "And then you and the others brought him back last night?" She nodded again. "As a living human." Another nod. Joyce sighed. She leaned forward and touched her daughter's hand. "Buffy, should I be worrying about you?"

"I don't think so," Buffy answered honestly. "Worry about Spike. He's not doing too well."

"I'll make him dinner tomorrow," Joyce decided. She thought a minute. "Hmm. What would you like if you hadn't eaten for a hundred years?"

Buffy laughed in spite of her concern. "Well, all I know is he likes chicken wings. And onion blossoms — you know, those deep-fried things?"

Joyce smiled. "I'll see what I can do. And I'll, uh, bring it over to Mr. Giles' house tomorrow." She shooed her daughter out the door.

Buffy stayed at Giles' that night, sleeping in the chair across from where Spike lay, unmoving, on the couch. They had done a cursory examination on him and decided that physically, he was fine. Whatever mental or emotional trauma he had suffered would be cured in time, mostly by rest and quiet.

Whatever emotional trauma he had was considerable, judging by the scream he let out in the middle of the night. Buffy jumped up and ran to him. He tossed and writhed and screamed. She tried to wake him. "Spike?" No response. "William, wake up." He calmed slightly, but stayed asleep. "Spike, wake up. You're having a nightmare. Come on, wake up," she kept saying quietly, until his shadowed eyes fluttered open. He met her gaze, startled. She ran smoothing fingers through his hair. "You're all right; you were just dreaming," she explained.

Spike cleared his throat and scowled, as if he was trying to remember something. He tried to speak, but couldn't until Buffy gave him a sip of water. "S-s-slayer?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

Buffy nodded. "Yeah, that's me," she said. Spike fumbled around until he found her hand; she laced their fingers together and held on tightly. "Are you okay?" she asked him.

He replied with a weak nod, his eyes closing again as he drifted back into sleep. Buffy kept her hold of his hand as she leaned back against the couch and closed her own eyes. The irony of the situation totally escaped her.

Next morning, Lindsey McDonald strode through the corridors of the Wolfram and Hart building. He ignored the curious glances people gave his outfit as he made his way to his partner's office. He went in without knocking. "Get out," he told the weaselly green skinned demon she'd been negotiating with.

"Aw, but Lindsey, me 'n Lilah were just working out a plan fer Angel," the demon said.

"Later, Merl," Lindsey said. "I have to talk to Lilah now. Out!"

Merl left and Lindsey sat down. "Well, it looks like you're taking a casual day in dress as well as courtesy," Lilah commented, indicating Lindsey's khakis and denim shirt. "What's up?"

"I got a new assignment yesterday, Lilah," he said. "Know anything about it?"

Lilah blinked innocently. "No, why don't you tell me about it?"

Lindsey curled his lip, saying, "Oh, I think you know more about it than you say! You told the boss that I'm the one who wanted Angel dead? That you had no hand in it? What the hell are you trying to pull, Lilah?"

His partner gave him her very sweetest smile. "Your strings, Lindsey. Your strings."

Lindsey got up and started to pace. "Well, it worked. Now, instead of staying up here to keep track of you, I'm sent down to some pissant little town — as a job recruiter! I'm a recruiter now, Lilah, thanks to you!" He fumed.

"Well, it's happened to the best of us, Lindsey." Lilah's voice was falsely comforting.

"Yeah, well, I hope I do better with Willow Rosenberg than you did with Bethany Chaulk!" Lindsey shot back as he left the office. He put the top down on his convertible as he drove down to Sunnydale to meet Willow Rosenberg. After he checked into his hotel, he sprawled out on the bed to read Wolfram & Hart's files on her.

She seemed rather exceptional — shy but smart in high school, started helping out the slayer with research and computer skills. In college, she started serious work on her magic and spells. Also, her boyfriend of 2 years left her last year, and she hadn't gone out with a guy since then. Lindsey smiled, starting to see his approach, his "angle" taking form. The fact she helped the slayer and used to be friends with Angel were marks against him, but he would wait and see what she was like when he met her.

He dialed her number, smiling.

The former vampire woke that morning screaming again. Buffy woke him again, but he couldn't seem to calm down. He sat up on the couch, miserably covering his face with his hands to hide his tears while his shoulders shook with silent sobs. She sat and held him until he stopped trembling, but he still didn't raise his head. Buffy stroked his hair gently and said nothing for a long time. Finally, she asked softly, "Want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. Then he nodded. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. He looked up then, and Buffy was appalled at the expression of utter despair in his eyes. "Buffy. Why'd you bring me back?"

Buffy took his hand again. "I just wanted to give you what you asked for, Spike." At his questioning glance, she gave him a half-smile. "A chance."

He looked away. When he'd asked her for a chance, when he'd thought he might have an outside hope at the slayer's affections, he hadn't had a soul. Or a conscience. Or a heartbeat. "Here, can you give me a hand up?" he asked matter-of-factly. Buffy helped him get to the bathroom, since his legs were still unsteady.

Spike closed the door behind him and leaned heavily on the sink, fighting nausea. Every time he closed his eyes in sleep, his dreams were filled with memories of his past victims — the face of every single person he'd ever killed was etched on his memory, and they all came back to haunt him in his dreams. The screams, the railroad spikes, the smell of smoke, the reek of blood — it was all very vivid and alive in his mind. For the first time, he began to understand the horrors Angel had gone through when he'd had his soul restored to him.

He swallowed hard and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He studied it, noting the changes since the last time he'd seen himself. His face was thinner, more angular. He was paler, of course. Angular, bony. Scarred. Very scarred. He shrugged out of his borrowed shirt, kicked off his trousers, and studied his reflection. He whistled softly. "I look like the back end of a tram smash!" he muttered. There was hardly any of his body that didn't carry the marks of over a century of hard living. And hard dying, too: he traced his fingers across the puckered scar over his heart and remembered Angel's rage as he'd shoved the stake into Spike's battered body. He didn't blame him, really; Spike himself would have killed any vampire that he thought was about to kill the slayer.

Oh God. The slayer. No matter why she'd had him brought back, it wouldn't work. Even if she came to him tonight, stark naked and declaring her undying love for him, it wouldn't work. While his body seemed intrigued by that image, his mind went on ahead to realize now that he'd been a fool to ever think he had a chance with her, that he'd been worthy of her. "Pillock!" he told his reflection bitterly. Even if she was fool enough to want to be with him, he didn't deserve the sunlight of her presence. With all the carnage he'd caused over the years, so much death, why would the slayer ever want to do anything more than spit on him?

The eyes of his reflection looked haunted and dark, with grey circles under them. The reflection swore back at him, and he hunched his shoulders and turned away.

Trying to forget the memory of the night's horrors, he went on with his ablutions. He switched on the shower and let the hot water run while he relieved himself (and didn't he wish there'd been modern plumbing the last time he was human!). The room filled with steam and he sighed in relief as the mirror fogged up and he couldn't see himself anymore. He stepped into the tub and began to wash.

The water had been running cold for a long time and he was shivering by the time Buffy knocked on the bathroom door. "Spike? You've been in there for an hour. Are you okay?" He didn't answer, and Buffy knocked once more before opening the door slowly.

Spike was standing under the shower spray, shivering uncontrollably. The water beat down on his face, his shoulders, and ran down his back. He scrubbed his hands, over and over, but made no move other than the tremors that shook his slender frame. Buffy reached in and turned off the water. "My God, Spike, you must be freezing! Come on out, now. Xander's here and he brought you some clothes." She grabbed the towel and tried to hand it to him, but it fell from his slack, trembling fingers. She picked it up and wrapped it around him, helping him out of the tub. "What on earth were you trying to do, anyway? Scrub your skin off? Freeze to death?" She grabbed Giles' bathrobe from its hook and draped it over his shoulders.

He shook his head, teeth chattering. "Naw. Just g-get c-c-clean." Buffy looked at him sharply, realizing what he meant, but he didn't meet her gaze. He wrapped the robe around himself and slowly began to warm up.

Buffy, meanwhile, towelled his hair dry and finger-combed it. "There. Now you look human, at least." Realizing what she'd said, she clapped her hand to her mouth. "I mean you look more alive. No, I mean you look, well, less like a..." She paused. "I'm not getting anywhere here, am I?"

Spike forgot himself and started to smile. Flustered Buffy had always amused him. "D-don't worry about it, luv." He chuckled.

Buffy gave him a warm smile and touched his cheek gently. "I'm glad I got you back, William," she said in a low voice. She stepped a little closer to him as he leaned down towards her, and just as their lips met —

"Knock, knock! Hey Buf, what's going on in there?" Xander called from outside the door. "I've got the Spikey clothes. Where's the Spike?"

Buffy closed her eyes and turned away, blushing. "He'll be right out, Xan!" To Spike she said, "Are you going to be okay?" He nodded, again not meeting her eyes. "Then let's go." She opened the door and took the clothes from Xander. "Thanks, Xander. Are these okay?" she asked Spike. She laid out the plain, faded blue jeans and dark blue button-down shirt Xander had brought over. "I know they're not your regular colors, but — "

"Good," Spike said. "Thanks," he told Xander before closing the bathroom door again so he could dress.

"Oh my God, Buf, he looks like he's been to hell and back!" Xander's muffled voice still made its way through the door. Spike gave his mirror reflection a cynical smile as he pulled on the jeans. It was the truth.

Buffy and Xander went into the kitchen to raid Giles' refrigerator. Xander pulled out some cold cuts and bread and began to make a few sandwiches while Buffy poured out three glasses of fresh grape juice.

"So how's he doing, anyway?" Xander asked. " 'Cause I hate to say it, but he didn't look that good just now. In fact, he looks like someone who's been dead for a hundred years. Which isn't surprising, since he has been, but somehow I didn't expect him to look this bad."

"Yeah," Buffy said. "I don't know how much of our Spike is still in there, though. He's been pretty quiet." She lowered her voice. "He's having some real trouble, Xan. I don't know what the problem is — whether it's physical or mental, or what. But he woke up last night with the most awful nightmares. He was screaming and everything. And we haven't been able to get him to eat anything. All he does is hang around trying to look like part of the furniture, and we all know that's not the usual Spikey behavior. He hasn't even lost his temper once, or glared at me, or anything." She sipped her juice and continued, "Just now, in the shower, it was like he was trying to scrub his own skin off. And he couldn't even get out of the tub or dry himself off or anything." She paused, then continued thoughtfully, "Which makes twice now that I've seen Spike entirely naked, and both times I've been too worried about him to pay any attention!"

Xander closed his eyes and winced. "Uh, Buffy? Too much information there, pal."

She giggled. "Sorry 'bout that. But seriously, I don't know what's going on with him. Giles thinks he might try to kill himself or something, if we leave him alone."

Xander shrugged. "No problem. We'll take turns staying with him until we're sure he's okay. Will's busy today, and I have to work later, but maybe An or Tara could come. I'll make some phone calls."

Buffy smiled in relief. She hadn't known how worried she was until Xander lifted the burden. "Are you okay with this?" she asked. "I mean, he was a vampire... and with Angel..."

Spike appeared silently in the doorway as Xander headed towards the telephone, speaking over his shoulder. "He was, but he's human now." Half his breath, he muttered, "And I always liked him better than Angel anyway." Hearing this, Spike allowed himself a tiny smirk as he slowly made his way to the nearest chair.

Buffy gulped when she saw him. Damn, he looked good! But thin, much too thin. He looked as if one good breeze would blow him away. She handed Spike a sandwich on a plate. "Here, try to eat some of this. It's nothing fancy, but it's food, and that's what you need right now." She took a few bites of her own sandwich. Spike pushed his sandwich around his plate, saying nothing. Buffy touched his hand gently. "Please, William. You need to eat something to get your strength back up. Try to eat some of it."

Spike, feeling another slight wave of nausea, nevertheless gamely took a bite of the sandwich. Buffy nodded approvingly. He forced himself to swallow and take another bite.

Buffy said, "William, I have to go to class — someone's going to come and hang out with you for a while until Giles gets home. Is that okay?"

He nodded, still chewing. It felt like sawdust in his mouth. He swallowed again, then promptly turned a delicate shade of pale green and bolted for the bathroom.

Xander hung up the telephone. "No good. Tara's in class and Anya's working. Where'd Spike go?" Then, as the unmistakable sounds of someone being violently ill filtered into the room, he said, "Oh. Never mind."

"I'd better call my mom," Buffy decided. "Mothers are always good for sick people."

Spike reappeared in the doorway, looking decidedly pale.

"Oh look, it's the sickie," Xander said. "Hey, Buffy says you're not talking much. She's worried, but I call it a good thing. I for one plan to enjoy the silence.

Spike glared at Xander and took a step toward him. Xander laughed and Buffy's face brightened at this display of temper, minor though it was. "Spike, did you think you could fool us?" she asked. "Over a hundred years of instant gratification isn't a habit that can be broken by mere death."

Spike took in her happy expression and his ill-humor dissipated. Rolling his eyes at Xander, he shook his head and smiled ruefully. In a quiet, unsteady voice, he said, "I c-can h-h-hit you now. Whelp."

"Listen," Xander said. "I'd be happy to oblige you with a good old fashioned brawl, but until you get back to your full strength it wouldn't be fair to you. And after you get back to being yourself, well — then it wouldn't be fair to me. So how 'bout if you and me just try to get along?"

Spike shrugged and put the kettle on for some tea.

"Where's Willow?" Buffy asked Xander.

"Oh! I was supposed to tell you she won't be able to come over for lunch — and you'll never believe why! She got a call from a job recruiter named Lindsey McDonald."

Buffy frowned. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it. Then it hit her, and she looked up sharply at Xander's smiling face. "You mean — ?"

He nodded. "Yep. Wolfram and Hart wants to hire Willow. Can you imagine? Of course, she thinks she can find out some stuff, so she didn't let on she knew anything about them."

"Poor Will. They're dangerous. I hope she's careful." To herself, Buffy added, And I really, really hope they don't know about Spike! "Do you think they know about her decoding their secret files?"

"Let's hope not. Hey, I gotta get to work. I'll call you later to see if you need anything else," Xander said. He grabbed his jacket, then paused on his way out the door. "See you later, Spike. Don't worry – Joyce'll make it all better." He grinned as Spike gave him a half-hearted glare, and left.

"That reminds me…" Buffy dialed the number at her mother's gallery and told her what had happened. "When you come over with dinner, can you bring some sick-person food with you? He isn't eating anything, and even when he does eat a little he can't keep it down."

"Sure, Buffy. Hm, don't you have class sometime soon?"

"Yeah, but I can't leave him alone."

"Hey, listen. It's a slow day here, so why don't I just close up for a little while and go over and stay with him while you're at class. I'll bring the sick-people food with me. It sounds as if he could use a mother."

Buffy sighed in relief. "Mom, that'd be perfect. Thanks!"

Not at all, Joyce thought as she hung up the telephone. It would give her a chance to ask Spike some probing questions about his intentions toward her daughter. Buffy hadn't exactly been forthcoming about her own feelings in the matter.

Buffy went to class. When Joyce arrived, though, Spike looked so completely miserable she couldn't bring herself to grill him all that much. Plus, he just wasn't speaking. They conversed enough for her to understand that no, he didn't want to go to the doctor, he didn't want to eat anything; he mainly wanted to be left alone. "I can't leave you alone, I'm afraid," Joyce told him. They were sitting in opposite chairs in Giles' living room. "I promised my daughter I'd hang around until she or Mr. Giles got back here. My daughter is very concerned about your well-being."

She was quiet for a long moment, then asked, "Spike, why is my daughter so very concerned about your well-being?"

It was a long moment before he spoke, slowly, in a low, careful voice. "Your d-d-daughter has occasionally," he paused, coughing, "placed her affections on unworthy recipients."

Joyce snorted. "You don't have to tell _me_ that! But you wouldn't be the worst choice she's ever made, either."

Spike closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "You d-don't know that." He was fully prepared to ignore this jabbering woman who knew nothing of his pain.

Joyce leaned forward, starting to go into full lecture mode, and said, "I know you don't want to talk, and that's fine. But I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen. Okay?" Spike opened his eyes and looked at her warily. She'd never been this forceful before! Joyce went on, "Here's what I know about you. You and Drusilla came to town a couple of years ago because Drusilla was sick and you knew she'd get better if she came here. Buffy got in the way. No surprise; it's her job. First time I met you, you were trying to kill her. That's _your_ job (I'm not okay with that, by the way, but that's neither here nor there).

"Then you and Buffy spent the next year or so trying to kill each other, plot out each other's moves, make plans that would take each other down. Point being, you two spent a lot of time in each other's heads. Then when Angel and Dru were planning to end the world, who was the first one you thought of to team up with? Buffy. I wasn't there, but I'll bet she didn't take much convincing, either. Am I right?"

Spike made a non-committal gesture, but he sat up straighter in the chair and was listening hard.

Joyce continued. "Two years ago when you were in town and stopped by, all you could talk about was Drusilla and how she left you because you weren't evil enough anymore because you had this soft spot for the slayer. Then suddenly, you're back again, only harmless this time. A couple hundred years of violence is a hard habit to break, but you can only kill demons and other vampires. So what do you do? You kill demons and other vampires. You help Buffy. You help keep her safe. You save her life."

Spike was on the edge of his chair. He had no idea where Joyce was going with this line of thought, but it unnerved him that she knew that much about him.

Joyce leaned forward and touched his hand. "Spike, what I'm trying to say is that I think you're on a journey. I bet you were a nice guy before you were changed, weren't you?" He rolled his eyes, but managed to nod. She smiled and leaned back again. "So no matter how bad-ass you tried to be, deep down inside was still a decent human being. That part of you was probably sickened by the carnage you caused, but it was drowned out by the demon. Well, Spike, the demon's gone now. You are free again, free to become the person you might have grown up into if you hadn't been changed. And I think you'd already started down that path when Angel killed you last week."

Spike shook his head. "C-can't," he choked. He hated his lack of control, but he couldn't get rid of the lump in his throat. "I c-can't forget. All the bl-blood, the death. _I_ caused." One tear escaped, and he brushed in away angrily. He glared at Joyce. "You can t-talk all you want about life-journeys and rot, but the fact remains that these hands have torn people's heads off. These hands have choked the life from squirming teenagers." He held them up, not noticing that in his anger he'd started to speak more smoothly. "These hands were the ones that killed the other slayers. Two other girls, beautiful, active, spirited girls, just like your daughter in a lot of ways. Do you even know why they call me 'Spike'?" He dropped his hands in his lap and leaned back, looking defeated.

Joyce said nothing, but passed him a bottle of juice. He took it, opened it, and had it half-gone before he realized it. She handed him a box of crackers and he devoured them. He bolted the half of a sandwich she handed him then, and finished off the juice. Then he looked up in surprise, realizing what he'd done. How could he eat to sustain his own life when he'd deprived so many others of theirs? His stomach started to churn again.

"No." Joyce said calmly. "Stop it."

"Eh?"

"Stop the self-flagellation, Spike. You're not very good at it."

His stomach calmed down again. "Did you not hear anything I said?"

"Didn't you listen to me either?" she asked. "Sure, you tortured people with railroad spikes. So what? My daughter dated the scourge of Europe. You have a new chance here, Spike. Do you really want to spend it moping, like Angel does? I mean, think about it. Is brooding really a skill you want to perfect?" He laughed in spite of himself. She went on, "Sure, you can host the pity party for as long as you want, but you're just not the kind of person to make that last forever. You've always enjoyed life, Spike. And now you finally have a real life to enjoy. Don't waste it."

Spike gave up. He knew when he was defeated. He reached for the other half of his sandwich and grinned at Joyce. Unexpectedly, he asked, "Can I call you 'mum'?"

"No," she said, smiling back. "Hey, I promised to bring you dinner. Spicy Buffalo wings okay?"

"Smashing!"

Buffy came home a while later to find them both completely engrossed in watching "Passions" on Giles' tiny television set. "Uh, hi, guys."

"Hi honey," her mother said absently. Spike, engrossed in the show, merely waved a hand at her as he leaned forward to watch the ending. Then he looked up.

"Slayer!" he greeted happily. "Your mum and I've been 'aving a nice chat. Well, we were until 'Passions' came on. Then it was every man for 'imself."

Buffy was thrown. Where was the sobbing wreck of a man she'd left only a few hours before? "Um, that's great, Spike."

"Yeah," he continued. "Made me see things in a whole new light."

"Thought you usually needed some violence to do that."

Spike grinned suddenly and stood up. "Hey, that reminds me! Slayer, I can hit you now!" He walked slowly toward her, still grinning. " 'Course," he continued thoughtfully, "I can't hit you very hard, since I'm a weakling human now, but maybe we could still spar." He ran his hands suggestively down his body and said in an undertone, "You just 'ave to be gentle with me."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "You're a pig, Spike."

"I don't think this is the kind of conversation a mother should overhear her daughter having with a creature of the night," Joyce said, mock-sternly.

"I'm not a creature of the night anymore, Joyce!" Spike said. "You said so yourself!"

"So I did," Joyce said placidly.

_All right, so it's not complete. I am truly sorry. At least it leads you in the direction of what's going to happen, though... doesn't it? Does anyone still want to kill me? Should I have just left the poor man dead, rather than post an incomplete story about his revival? Please review. Thanks._


End file.
